The City Vandal
by Madman With A Keyboard
Summary: Have you ever wondered why the Fallen have never allied themselves with humanity? They are mercenaries after all, so it's not a question of virtue. But, for whatever reason, they despise humanity. But what if one didn't? What if one were to live amongst humans, seeing them as equals? Chaos, that's what.
1. Banishment, Riches, and a New Path

Old Chicago. Before the Great Collapse, it had been simply known as 'Chicago' and a relatively minor city. It was no economic powerhouse, nor home to any great religions or figures. It simply... _Was._What was the point of staying in a city on Earth, when one could live on Jovian Moons, the plains of Mars, the jungles of Venus, or even _The Moon!_

But it was still heavily populated. A city of the rich, by North American standards anyhow. It was a city where the rich and powerful could live comfortable and cushy lives, without fears of crime, disease or other horrible ends. A city of tranquil stability.

This hadn't saved it during the Great Collapse, of course. If it's past denizens were to see what the once proud city had became, they would sooner have moved to Saturn and endured the otherworldly and unknowable judgement of The Nine.

What had once been Chicago was now nothing but overgrown jungle and marshland, inhabited by all manners of reptiles, rodents and insects, ranging from biting Mosquitoes to darting Dragonflies, bumbling Beetles to enduring Cockroaches, and of course, The Fallen.

The Fallen were an enigma to the still-remaining Guardians of Earth. This was nothing special in itself, as almost _everything_ alien that winded up on Earth was mysterious in one way or another, but the Fallen were unique in their own way. Strange pirate like aliens, they had been seen fighting just about every force within the Solar System, and equally _working_ with them: Vex, Cabal, it made no difference. If there was a force they could find that was intelligent, not utterly insane and willing to pay, the Fallen would gladly slit their friends throat to make their client happy.

However, never has a Fallen been seen with this type of macabre and greedy optimism with mankind. Then again, ever since London, humanity and such haven't been truly willing to listen to them, but the point stood: never has a Fallen of any sorts shown anything but animosity to the natives of this solar system.

In Old Chicago however, that was soon to change...

* * *

In one of the many overgrown swamp-streets of Old Chicago, a Frog croaked out it's throaty mating rattle, hoping to lead a willing female into it's clutches. And if that didn't happen, perhaps a Fly would float by and be devoured by it's long, sticky tongue. Either option was appealing to the dimwitted amphibian.

A dull thud was heard in the distance, followed by the somewhat familiar rattle of weapons fire, as well as the piercing cry of something most certainly not natural. The frog's eye darted in the direction of the street where that sound had came from, seeing a sight it's dimwitted mind would not truly understand.

Although the frog would not know what it was seeing, any kind of sentient being with a basic understanding of what lived on this planet would. Running down the streets at breakneck speed was a member of the piratical Fallen, a Vandal if one wished to be specific and went by the Guardians convention of naming their enemies, more specifically of the relatively minor House of Bonds, as determined by the gun metal Grey livery on his armor and similarly colored cloth belt and cape. Currently, said Vandal was holding onto a small idol in his lower pair of arms, vaguely resembling some sort of three-eyed hulking figure, carved from shadows and blood given solid shape. In his upper arms he was holding a Shock Rifle, the tracking ammo currently launching into it's pursuers to mixed results.

Said pursuers were a large group of Hive Thralls, their claws glowing a savage green and their haunting screams echoing down the swampy corridors, although those were somewhat drowned out by the Ogre following them, it's savage roars nigh-deafening.

How this unfortunate Vandal had gotten this mess was a relatively simple: The Vandal had been sent away from his comrades, banished into the deeper recesses of the city after angering his Captain, having requested for the tiniest bit more of salvage...

* * *

"And what right do you have, to deserve for more of the precious materials in which our House dedicates to needing to fund our vast kingdoms?" The Noble Captain had demanded in an arrogant fashion, his stance tall and proud.

"Well, I simply figured, by the right of that I had found these." The Vandal had explained, his stance more meek and timid in comparison. "And, since I had found them, I figured I would be able to... Keep them." He said, flinching lightly as the Captain gave him a scrutinizing stare.

"And may I ask, where you have acquired such a... _Dreg _like notion?" The Captain hissed, making a few of the Vandals fellow comrades snicker in cruel amusement. To compare a Vandal to a Dreg, on any level, was the ultimate of insults to a Fallen's pride, the only worse being the removal of limbs to make one a Dreg. The Vandal held back his spite, staying in the image of humble frailty. To argue against the Captain would a foolish move. The Captain was a Captain for a reason, and not only for his cunning and strength. It was also due to the ability to inspire fear into his subordinates, be that a veiled threat of a lopped off head.

And unlike arms, a head could not come back once taken away.

"A thousand apologies, my noble Captain." The Vandal had said, bowing before him. "I did not intend to act like one of the lesser ones." He said, thankful for the breather mask to hide his feared expression. "You may take any of my salvage, I have seen the error of my ways of requesting to hold onto them."

The Vandals continued their snickering as the Captain seemed to actually consider this, one of his arms stroking his sword hilt in a thoughtful manner, while also holding veiled threats. "No, you do raise a good point..." The Captain murmured, shocking the group into silence. Even the Dregs, far away from the rest of the group and harassing Shanks by throwing stones at them, seemed to stop and listen.

The Vandal's head shot up in shock, his eyes wide behind his mask. "I did?" He chittered out in surprise.

The Captain had nodded, his claws still flicking the hilt. "Yes, a Vandal should be able to hold _some _pride in his or her work, and some trinkets to remind them of the pillage." The Captain said, while his subordinates stared in shock. Was the Captain, the most cruel and savage of Fallen second only to an Archon or Kell... Actually showing kindness to a subordinate?

The Captain's gaze fell instantly on the Vandal, and the unfortunate bandit felt his hearts clench in fear at his Captain's next choice of words. "Perhaps you should visit one of the Captains of the _other_houses that reside in this city, they may speak such idiotic sentiments." He growled, unsheathing a sword. "Now leave my sight, before I gut your carcass and throw it into the bog to feed the scavengers."

Even the Dregs laughed at him as he ran away with only his life and a Shock Rifle with assorted ammunition.

* * *

And so, the Vandal found himself wandering the waterlogged streets of a city more unknown to him then familiar, his only purpose to find a new House.

But who would accept him? He'd been banished for demanding more then one of his rank deserved, from a House infamous for having some of the richest and greediest the Fallen had to offer. What House would want to accept him?

Besides the House of Kings, but even he still had standards.

Perhaps he could become a Mercenary, like Vandals from the House of Coins. Those hopes were dashed as he remembered that they were not even in this system anymore, having left after trying to raid one of the moons of Saturn. Why exactly he didn't know, but rrumors were abound they had lost a quarter and half of their total fighting force in the failed Raid... Even though not even that many Fallen had been sent planetside.

The Fallen drifted his eyes up and down the decrepit street, his fingers twitching lightly. Perhaps he could find some sort of artifact, to bribe his way into a position in a rival house. His eyes scanned the broken windows, cracked pavement and swollen marshes. He saw nothing of worth however. Waterlogged Dreg corpses long since looted, scant Shell casings, a few minuscule shards of Spinmetal, some Glimme-

_Ooh, Glimmer!_

He quickly grabbed the few shining bits of currency, looking around curiously. There was in fact a trail of Glimmer, leading into a building that seemed as if it were to collapse on itself any day now. The surrounding flora around the building seemed browned, blackened, and generally dead. Everything here simply screamed 'Death to all who enter'.

For a quick moment, Greed thought against Self-Preservation in a bloody conflict. Sadly though, the more common trait of the Fallen race emerged within him, and he steadily approached the building, absentmindedly picking up Glimmer as he went.

He carefully slid into the building, Shock Rifle at the ready. He took a cursory glance around the bare room, seeing nothing truly interesting. In a corner the upper portion of a human Skeleton was lounged over a long rotten counter, the bare sockets of its skull seeming so stare at the Vandal accusingly.

"I'm not the one that killed you." The Vandal murmured, as if the humans soul somehow still resided within and could hear him. The accusative glance continued, at least until a single shot from his Shock Rifle shattered the fragile cranium and sent shards scattering across the room.

"I did shoot you though." The Vandal admitted, his eyes still exploring the room. He took a few steps forward, an ominous creak coming from the floorboard. He gave the ground a quick, panicked look as if it may fall beneath him. Just to make sure, he took a tentative step forward, putting all of his weight into the action.

A creak, but nothing more.

The Vandal sighed and took another few steps, which is when the floor decided "Frack it" and collapsed in a shower of rotten wood shards, making the poor Fallen fall a handful of feet and land on his back.

The Vandal cursed his Captain aloud for having sent him here after the necessary amount of groaning and moaning, looking around ti see where he'd ended up. The walls had a rounded quality to them, looking as if carved from blackened stone while lit torches of green fire lined the way forward. The Vandal looked above him, seeing the broken floor. He could hoist himself up out of here when needed, which he prayed was soon.

First though, he needed to search for loot.

The Vandal collected himself and got up, his upper arms grasping the Shock Rifle firmly. This was unfamiliar territory and certainly not the norm for human habitats. It reminded him of something though, but he couldn't quite place it. He looked down the hallway, the green light both haunting and inviting.

With a heavy heart, he moved forwards.

The corridor seemed longer then it actually was, although whether that was his mind playing tricks on him or simply a result of the bare nature of the corridor was unknown to him. What he _did _know was that the light seemed to be getting dimmer as he went on, and the intervals between them longer and longer.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the corridor ended into a room very much unlike what he'd been seeing before. The room was massive, far larger then it physically should have been. The size of it implied an entire skyscraper housed this room in it's entirety, which couldn't be! The Vandal looked around curiously, although the corners of the room were too dark for anything to be taken out. However, what truly caught his attention was in the center of the room.

It was a raised pedestal, made if a material darker then the bleakest void, almost as if absorbed light instead of reflecting it. Sitting on top of the pedestal was a strange statue, roughly about 16 inches in height. It showed a grotesque snarling creature, more muscle then skin, with three small red gemstones for eyes sitting above a fanged maw.

The Vandal swore he could hear whispers in the dark talking to him, but when he strained to listen all he heard was silence.

_Should I take it? Should I destroy it? Would be it be better to just leave and find a different way of getting my way into a house? _These thoughts and more swam through the Vandals mind, although they came too late. In the time it had taken him to think those words, he had already made it across the room and grabbed the statue, clutching it to his chest. It didn't feel like stone either, he noticed. It felt... Warmer. _Wetter_.

Like hot Blood.

Suddenly, the room was lit up around him, exposing what laid in the corners of the room. Laying silently in the darkness had been rows upon rows of Thralls of the Hive, their features lax and still. The Vandals hearts were beating light years a second, while a part of his mind tried to relax him. _Don't worry,_ it would say. _They're asleep, they're asleep. They can't harm you.  
_  
Then he noticed one of the Thralls twitch.

And then another.

And another.

Then one of them rose it's head and stared at him with empty eyes, it's mouth set in a wide snarl, while an even larger figure stirred in the remaining darkness.

The screams and howls started just as the Vandal was halfway down the hallway with his prize.

* * *

And that's why a Vandal was currently running down the streets of Old Chicago, holding a small artifact of The Darkness while being hounded down by it's servants.

The Frog watching this however knew nothing of this elaborate backstory, and even if it did, it probably wouldn't have the patience nor interest to stick around and listen. Right now, every cell in it's body was dedicated to one thing and one thing only, and that was running away.

However, this instinct came a bit late as the Vandal sped by the diminutive amphibian, the Thralls following him with screeching howls. One of the foul creatures looked down and saw the petrified amphibian and grabbed it in it's lithe claws, biting into it and tearing it in half, gulping down the still twitching carcass. Another Thrall quickly noticed the scent of hot blood and snarled, pouncing onto it's comrade and fighting for the remains of the impromptu meal.

Both of the Thralls were thrown aside by the furious Ogre, their corpses shattered before bursting into ash.

The Vandal didn't know of any of these events, too focused on running for his life. He sped around a corner, seeing a rather familiar site before him at the end of the street. At the moment, his former band of mates of the House of Bonds were currently dueling with a trio of Guardians, the gunfire and savage shrieks of Dregs somehow drowning out the commotion behind the Vandal.

He quickly spun around, not seeing a Thrall yet. He quickly looked forward again, praying that he would find something he could escape in. A Skiff, a Pike, hell, he'd settle for a Cabal Interceptor, _anything!  
_  
And, luck be with him, there was something he could escape in. A trio of starships, belonging to the Guardians. A plan quickly formulated within his mind and before the first Thrall could turn the corner, the Vandal quickly leaped into an empty and abandoned store, laying himself out on the ground.

Outside, he could hear the the shrieks and howls of the Hive as they caught up with where the would-be thief had been but a moment ago, confusion most certainly filling their primitive minds. The sound of combat died down as both Fallen and Guardian stopped to turn and see the creatures that had interrupted their fight.

A short silence filled the air before being broken as the Ogre let put a deafening scream and the Thralls doing the same, before charging at the shocked mortals. The sound of gunfire played out again, although this time against the undead monstrosities.

The Vandal laid out on the floor, shivering in fear as he heard the first screams of the dying. At first, it was nothing but the death cries of Thralls, as they were cut down before they could reach their foes. Very quickly though, that changed. It then became the startled cries of Dregs, suffering a fate almost as terrible as being sent to the lowest circles of Fallen society, as Thralls swarmed them and grabbed out intestines and rib cage, tearing the fell Fallen apart limb my limb.

Then came the explosive sounds of Shanks being swatted aside by the Ogre, a pained roar coming from the abomination every now and then to show that, yes, it was indeed getting hurt.

After that came the defiant screams of Vandals, people he'd known before his exile. Friend, Foe, Lover, Rival, they all had laughed uproariously at him when he left, and now all screamed at what he had brought to them. He wasn't sure what emotion he felt stir in his chest when he heard the death cry of his former mate.

Next, he heard the pained cry of a Guardian, although the gender and race was a mystery to him. The Vandal didn't dare look above his hiding spot to find out, in fear that the unholy abominations would fall upon him. He held tighter into the statue that had brought them upon him, wishing that he'd simply destroyed it when he saw it.

After the first cry, a second one followed, although the whined roar before it meant the Guardian had fell to the claws or beam of the Ogre, confirmed by the tremble that ran through the ground. It seemed the Ogre had smashed it's foe into the ground to make sure the job had been done right.

The final noise he heard was the defiant cry of his former Captain. "Back to the Shadows that formed you, vile beast!" The Captain cried out, followed by the pained cry of the Ogre. _Had the Captain just __**stabbed**__ the Ogre!?  
_  
This action was followed by a fierce handed strike from the Ogre, as the Vandal heard the Captain's body smash against the wall of his hiding spot. The Vandal felt his breath stop, wondering if the Captain was dead or alive. He strained to listen, hearing nothing. No breathing, no whispers of idle movement, nothing.

His Captain was dead.

For a time, silence reigned the street. Thrall and Ogre alike both crawled along the street side, overlooking dead bodies to see if their thief was amongst the corpses.

The angered roar of the Ogre filled the Vandal with a strange sense of comfort.

He heard the countless whispers of Thralls running by, furious at their loss. The heavier thudding footsteps of the Ogre joined them, before stopping somewhere near his hiding spot. A low growl reared up it's throat, while it sniffed the air ominously. The Vandal tensed up in fear, his claws digging into the dirt._Don'tnoticemedon'tnoticemedon'tnoticemedon'tnoticemedon'tnoticeme!  
_  
In the distance, he heard the furious cry of a Thrall, and far away boom of an explosion. The Ogre let out a loud roar, plodding forth to join it's lesser brethren. The Vandal stayed put in his hiding spot for a few more moments, listening to the far away din of combat. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity the Vandal rose himself from his hiding spot, seeing the result of the battle.

Ash and soot made the soggy ground a bleak, unhealthy shade of brackish green, only broken up by the red and violet of natural blood. The broken corpses of many a Fallen Vandal and Dreg lined the ground, their weaponry broken into pieces under the relentless tide. The Vandal looked down at the dead form of his Captain, who had looked much powerful and intimidating in life. Now he was nothing but a broken body...

Well, the dead have no use for blades, now do they?

The Vandal pried the blade from the upper hand of the deceased Captain, the tiniest bits of a smirk, or would pass for a smirk amongst the Fallen, spreading across his masked face. "Look's like I'm my own captain." The Vandal said, turning around and stalking to one of the ships. He pried open the cockpit with his Shock Cutlass, hopping into the seat, putting the statue that had gotten him into this mess on the side. He overlooked the varying lights of the cockpit, curious at what each button did.

In the distance, he heard the telltale sounds of movement. He looked out the tinted cockpit, seeing a figure walk out of one of the abandoned buildings. A small bauble hung beside the figure, red, orange and blue in color.

That was one of the figures that floated besides Guardians...

That meant...

The Vandal felt his heart clench in fear as he realized he'd only heard the cries of death from _Two _of the _Three_ Guardians.

He gave a quick prayer that this ship was not the Guardians.

The figure slowly turned to the trio of ships and strode forward, while the Vandal slowly slid himself down the seat to keep out of sight.

Outside of the cockpit, he could hear the muffled din of conversation...

"...ll I'm saying is, if _you _saw a giant swarm of Thralls, as well as Traveler-damned _Ogre, _coming right out of nowhere, screaming and crying, you wouldn't try and get out of there?" A female (at least, he assumed it was Female) voice said.

"Oh no, I perfectly agree with _that _line of logic. The problem is that you ran away and hid, while _all of your teammates died! _**_Again!_**" A male (Again, assuming) voice said, filled with outrage.

"Ah come on, they'll get better. Just call in a few ghosts, and poof, all better! Just like that time with the Archon!"

Wait, did she say Archon?

"_That's not a good thing!_" The male voice said, while the figures walked by the ship the Vandal was currently hiding in, his lower left hand grasping the handle of the Shock Cutlass like a lifeline. He stayed perfectly still, as he heard the Guardian open the cockpit to her own ship.

"Alright, we'll continue this conversation _later_! Right now, I say we head to the city and drop off our loot." The Guardian said, her companions retort cut off as the cockpit closed. The Vandal stood up lightly at the mention of loot.

Did that mean, somewhere, the Guardians dropped off grand bounties of treasure? That they went out and explored the Solar System for that very reason?

As the Guardian's ship sped away into the distance, and left contrails behind it, the Vandal imagined that he'd found out what House he was going to join...

* * *

Underneath the broken city of Old Chicago, the Hive stirred into life. The Wizard had finally awoken, his frail form wrought with dark energies. Although the Hive felt and experienced emotions beyond the minds of the mortals of this Solar System, if one were to be in the same space of the Wizard they would be able to tell that it was furious.

Because of some wretched raider, twenty Thralls had been sent into ashes and dust, too far away to be reclaimed by the dark magics. That was nothing however, Thralls were Thralls and could be easily replaced. What truly angered the Wizard was the damage that been brought down upon it's precious and innocent guardian, Xellpuug the Reborn. The Wizard had seen personally to it's rebirth, embedding it with the most foul and vicious magics known to the Dark Arts.

And because of those damned mortals, it's once chilling screams and cries were laced with the sweet daggers of pain and anguish.

_At the very least, the Idol remains in it's sacred spot. _The Wizard 'thought', if such a term could be applied to such cunning and wicked beings of magic.

It was at that moment that the Wizard floated into the main chamber of the Idol in question, it's 'eyes' looking down at the alter where the Idol always stop, inspiring the Wizard with it's dark prowess and might.

The altar was empty.

An unnatural silence filled the den, as the Thralls, Acolytes and other minions of the Hive realized they hadn't told the Wizard of this loss.

The resulting explosion of rage-fueled black magic toppled over 5 half-submerged skyscrapers.

_**"BRING BACK THE IDOL OF THE FALLEN BLEAK!" **_

The Wizard screamed, and the Hive of Old Chicago obeyed.


	2. First Meeting Issues

The Vandal flied behind the path of the other Guardian, a respectable distance from afar. This was done for a few reasons, mainly being the Guardian in question would likely be curious onto who one of its comrades ships was flying, even though they had just died and yet to be revived.

The Vandal thrummed his claws on a vacant console, his view glancing every now and then to the small statue that had brought this upon him. It still looked the same to him: Black and darker red, ruby eyes, fanged maw, muscles, bony plates, typical undead monster look.

He was curious on what exactly he would do with the artifact, once he made it to this grand 'city' the Guardian had spoken of. How many vendors would possibly accept such an artifact? If this were Fallen society, of course they would be given to a Captain of some sorts, but then that would entail these 'Guardians' were essentially their equivalent to a Vandal or Dreg.

Which couldn't _possibly_ be right.

Before he could continue down this line of logic, he noticed the other ship bank lower, going beneath the cloud lines. The Vandal gripped his claws on the altitude levers and gripped the, down, falling in height as well. What he saw before him almost made his jaw drop in awe, while his mind tried and failed to process what he saw.

Stretched out on the ground below was a vast city, similar to the swampy Old Chicago he'd formerly been residing in. But whereas that city had been dead and abandoned, this city... This city was _alive_. Other, much smaller, ships flew to and from the spiraling tower near the city's center, flying over the various apartments and buildings civilians probably lived in and over it's grand walls, flying out into the distance.

But what truly had his attention was not the city, but what was _above_ the city

It was The Machine.

On board the grand Ketches of the fleets of the House of Bonds, when he had been but a young Dredgling, he had often listened to the teachings of Archon Priest, Vakzui. Vakzui had dwelled in the grand engine complexes, tending to the Servitors, appeasing their angered and savage minds with promises of power and riches, of a world on which they could do whatever they pleased. In doing so, he'd became a towering and healthy Archon, his body built like some lithe jungle world predator. Despite such a fearsome appearance, he had always shown a special sort of kindness to lesser Fallen, always acting in a kind fashion to them: An extra dose of Ether here, a piece of advise there and whatnot. A fatherly figure of a sorts.

And, every now and then, he would regale any visitor with a little piece of history. The grand history of the Fallen, before they had fell, when they had been Eliksni and the only House had been that of the one of Judgement. Of how they'd been a grand empire, covering multiple worlds and moons in their solar system. Of their declining size of this empire, the growing rivalries between bitter barons and lords, and the trembling sickness that had came upon them, that ate away at their very selves.

And then, _It_ had arrived. The Machine. It had appeared from nowhere, burdened with divine purpose. It had created the Servitors, who feed the Fallen with ether, while also unifying the vast houses together into one glorious empire under its Light. It had been the Prospered Age, the time of glory and prosperity.

And then, the Maelstrom had began. The Machine had left the homeworld, and the Servitors were now fewer in number, with the neer made lesser in quality. Furious cries and enraged accusations ran across the grand houses, and war spread across the solar system like a vicious tide. The amount of angered souls that went to dwell in the Servitors drove the machines mad, making them defiant to all but the strongest and most cunning of warriors, with the power to strip worlds of their skies- as they demenstarted on the homeworld. When the Maelstron finally passed away, the Fallen had learned many secrets but had became too segregated to ever unite as one vast empire and claim the stars.

And thus, the Fallen had went out in enormous fleets, to scavenge, pillage and destroy all they encountered.

And now, on one of the very words they were doing this act to, the very holy orb that had made them what they were and had caused their downfall floated there... protecting the natives of this world. He'd heard rumours of course, that Guardians had sprung from the Machine and battled against the Houses of Devil and Kings- but that had been before the House of Bonds had arrived to pillage and to survive. He'd thought them rumours... But now?

His previous thoughts of loot left his mind. He would need to stay in this city to find out why _it_ was here.

First though, he would need to get in the city and rid himself of the artifact. His eyes traveled to where all of these ships were dropping themselves off or leaving.

* * *

The hangar was bustling with activity today. It seemed more and more Guardians were heading out to explore the world and solar system. Nothing _too_ shocking. After all, only a few weeks ago a group of Guardians had breached the Black Garden and destroyed what they claimed was a fragment of The Darkness. Ever since, the Traveler had seemed to be shining even more in the dawn sky, so there was something to back up their claims.

However, with all of these ships leaving and entering, of course things were starting to get hectic, especially for the Shipwrights.

"I swear, it seems like the Guardians are _intentionally_ going into more dangerous areas." One shipwright, an Awoken women by the name of Vaalt Queir murmured, taking a gulp of water from a small canteen. Right now was her break, and she was making sure she would use very last second of it effectively.

"I think most of them are doing that. Ya know, being Guardians and all." Her comrade said snidely, a male Exo by the name of Hephaestus-3, who was currently repairing the engine of a Phaeton Class v3, black soot and grime covering a good portion of it. It had came wrong across a Cabal patrol over on Mars, only barely making out with not too much damage upon it.

"Yeah, that's the thing I don't get." Vaalt said, taking another swig. "Why even head out that far? I mean, the Reef, sure, I can see that because they can actually prove some use when they're not full of themselves, but Mars and Venus? Why? The Vex don't seem to care about us, and the Cabal are too busy fightin' those guys to really bother us." She said.

"Remind me again, how exactly did those Guardians get the Traveler to start getting glowy again?" Hephaestus grunted questioningly, his servos whining in protest as he tightened a loose fuselage.

"Oh, that was different!" Vaalt argued, before noticing another ship float it's way in. It appeared to be a Kestrel Class AX0, the pilot apparently having a tricky way getting into the crowded hangar. Vaalt let out an annoyed sigh, pocketing her flask. "I'll talk to ya later, Heph." She muttered.

"I'll be counting the minutes we are apart!" The Exo in question replied sarcastically, letting out an annoyed yell as a burst of steam sprayed over him. "**Travellerdamned piece of crap!**" He shouted in anger.

Vaalt restrained a small chuckle, pressing a button on a console as a mechanical claw gripped onto the Kestrel. "Alright buddy, just hop out, we'll put away your ship." She said in her usual, bored fashion.

The cockpit opened up and the gunmetal grey armoured Vandal slid out of the ship, a small statue tucked in his lower arms. "Fanks!" It said in scratchy English rubbing its throat at the use of unfamiliar language and shuffled away.

"You're welco-" Vaalt stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she'd just seen. She looked down the hallway where what she'd thought to be a Vandal had slipped away, seeing nothing.

A short silence surrounded her for a moment.

**_"Hephaestus! What the hell have you been putting in my drink again!?"_**

* * *

The Vandal walked down a more-or-less empty hallway, ignoring the shocked or baffled stares by the people he strode past. He hoped he hadn't said the wrong word to that Awoken. His grasping of the language of these humans and their customs was rusty at best, non-existent at worse. From what he'd gathered, that was a word with positive tone and context, but he wasn't entirely sure...

A trio of individuals stood before him, standing imposingly. The Vandal stopped his stroll, looking them over more curiously.

The assembled Guardians glared down at the Vandal, eyes narrowed in anger. One of them even had a knife out, the light glinting off of it threateningly.

Suddenly, the Vandal regretted the decision to come unarmed.

"Hi?" The Vandal asked, hoping his grasping of human customs would help him here. The Guardians stepped back in surprise, obviously not expecting that display. Wanting to make an impression, he rose the Hive artifact, the darkness of the hallway seeming to swallow into it. "Loot?" He ventured, hoping the concept wasn't too foreign to them.

The shocked gasp and looks he gained seemed to show they did understand it, they just didn't seem to like this particular artifact. The Vandal clicked his mandibles together, his species equivalent to a shrug. If they didn't want it, their loss. He would just need to hold onto it for a little bit longer.

The Vandal walked forward a step, before letting out a loud yelp as the Guardian with the knife tried to introduce is blade to the Vandals eye. The Vandal grasped one hand around the arm and held it at bay, two of his other arms holding back his torso and head as well. He struggled to loose himself of the maddened Guardian, letting out struggled cries for assistance. Were these Guardians like Dregs, wild creatures that acted on wild instincts?

In a few seconds though, a second figure appeared behind the first Guardian, pulling him away while the rabid Guardian shouted something of "Lungdung" or something along those lines. The Vandal quickly collected himself, letting out a gracious sigh. "Fanks." He said, before feeling his hearts clench in fear at the sight before him. In front of him were three more Guardians, a human, Awoken and Exo, all wearing vibrant regalia and had an air of experience to them.

The Exo was currently holding out a gun, holding it in the direction of the Vandal's face. "And here I was, wanting more action..." The Exo muttered, one of his servoed hands grasping the trigger.

The human noticed this and gave a small glare in his direction. "Cayde, don't." She said, gaining a surprised expression from him.

"At least, it seemed surprised. His grasp of facial emotions was rudimentary at best, even less so with something mechanical like this.

"You don't want me to kill this damn spider-pirate?" 'Cayde' said, while the Vandal tried to process what a spider was. "In any other circumstances, I wouldn't at all." She said, before focusing her gaze on him. "It's different though." She decided.

The Vandal quickly nodded at that assessment in agreement, causing a few surprised widening of eyes. "Yes, different!" The Vandal said. "Wish to join!" He said, before tentatively bringing up the staue again. "Have loot. Good?" He questioned, gaining a shocked gasp as the Guardians looked it over.

A short silence coated the hallway. "Someone get The Speaker." The human said, looking in shock at the confused Vandal. "Tell him it's important."

* * *

**Updated as of May 20th, with new information from the House of Wolves expansion.**


End file.
